


Actions Are Louder Than Words

by SapphyreLily



Series: KuroYaku Weekend 2017 [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Deaf Character, KuroYakuWeekend2017, M/M, Post Apocalyptic AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-15 07:51:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11801679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphyreLily/pseuds/SapphyreLily
Summary: KuroYaku Weekend Day 3 - Sound & SilenceIt's difficult, but you keep each other alive, help each other out, fill in for each other in the places that you fall short.





	Actions Are Louder Than Words

The whisper of a breath. The lightest exhale.

_Whoosh._

A dull _thump_ as the body keels over, hits the ground. Morisuke’s eyes raise and scan the area, quickly darting forward for his kill.

Tetsurou watches his back from a distance, keeping an ear out for any disturbances, for any other people who might want to snatch the meat.

There is too little, these days. Every and anyone is fair game, and without someone to keep an eye out, it is too easy to get mobbed and killed.

A whisper of sand, a tap on his elbow, and Tetsurou pulls the mask back over his face as his partner nods to him. He holds the bag with the rabbit in it while Morisuke pulls the hood over his light hair, passing it back to him when he is done.

Another cursory scan of the area, a signal that they’re both ready, and they flee.

\-----

Back in their temporary home, Morisuke strips the rabbit and prepares its meat, while Tetsurou sits at the entrance, watching, waiting. Every now and then, he’ll glance back, but his partner is efficient and smooth, and nothing is amiss.

(For now, for now, for now.)

His eyes are tired, and he can’t see far, not with the polluted sky above, nor with the light sparse and fleeting.

Behind him, a branch _cracks_ and _pops_ in the fire, and his muscles tense.

He forces himself to relax, to listen for suspicious sounds, to keep an eye out for anyone who might see the tiny glow of their fire, and dare to approach.

(No one is trustworthy. It’s every man for himself.)

The _clack-clack_ of two stones against each other startle him, and he turns back to see Morisuke nod. Tetsurou casts a last glance about the area, then leaves his post, coming back into the warmth of the fire.

He is handed a strip of meat, still cooling, and dips his head in thanks. Morisuke smiles just the slightest bit, and he is overcome by the sudden urge to kiss him.

So he does.

He leans in, rubs their noses together, presses chapped lips together briefly, lightly, sweetly.

Never mind that they are sweaty and dusty from a day of hunting, never mind that they are worn and exhausted.

Sometimes, they need a treat to keep going. They may be one of the strongest groups, but they are still tried and tired, like the rest of them out there, like the remainder of humanity that has not died yet.

(The remainder of humanity that is all about itself, about keeping oneself alive and using others.)

(He almost can’t remember the times when they lived in peace and had plenty.)

(Sometimes, he wonders if it was all a dream.)

\-----

Morisuke keeps one hand to the ground as he keeps watch, the other loosely curled around his throwing knife.

The ground is still, but it means nothing, not when they sit atop immovable rock. His fingers curl into fists as he curses himself for the millionth time, for being so stupid, for being so useless.

What good is he against an ambush, when he cannot hear anything?

(Useless, useless, useless.)

He flicks a glance back, over Tetsurou’s sleeping form, curled around the embers of their fire. His face is unguarded in sleep, the only time that he can be relaxed, the only time he can have rest.

Morisuke hates that he’s the reason his lover never rests. With one set of hearing ears between the both of them, Tetsurou’s senses are that much sharper, that much more acute. He’s told Morisuke before that it’s no big deal, that his senses have always been this sharp, but Morisuke can never bring himself to believe him.

(He’s a liability, and he doesn’t know why Tetsurou stays.)

His fingers wander out, pressing into the softer ground, keeping still.

The earth is silent, but that may mean nothing. People have learnt to walk quietly, so gently that their footsteps may never send jarring vibrations through the ground.

(It makes him afraid.)

(He can’t see far in the darkness, and his sense of touch is what keeps him sane.)

(He needs to know they’re safe, but he’s always on edge.)

What price do they have to pay, to find a safe haven?

\-----

Some days, they run into other groups, other teams ravaging the land, looking to scavenge and survive.

This newest group they encounter is wary and tense, but trigger-happy, if the shaky one by the back is any indication.

Tetsurou raises his fist in greeting, in warning.

_I will talk to your leader, one-on-one._

Carefully, slowly, one of the others raises his fist as well.

_I will speak for them._

The rest of them, the members, they hang back as Morisuke hangs back, watching as their representatives meet in the middle, as they partially uncloak their faces to speak.

The wind whips up a frenzy around them, dust and sand obscuring his vision, and in his ears, the ever-present ringing. He can barely make out the figures through the dust, but the group behind the other band looks suddenly smaller.

**_There are three missing._ **

Morisuke keeps still, forcibly relaxing himself, spreading his feet out just a little more.

Faintly, faintly, the thrumming of the ground, footsteps receding. He can’t tell very well which direction they went in, but he assumes it is towards the little hill off to his right.

He shakes his head, brushing the dust off his hood, and though the remainder of the other group tenses, they do not do anything.

But with that one action, Morisuke has seen enough.

Tiny figures in the distance, one far away, one almost to the hill, one at a tree in between, swiftly ascending its branches. He can only hope that none of them have guns, or if they do, that none of them are good shots.

This group, they have each other, but Tetsurou is all he has left.

He keeps an eye on them, but it is difficult to split his vision as such. He can barely make out Tetsurou’s hand moving behind his back; the dust is still too thick.

A tiny _thump_ beneath his feet, a flash in the edge of his vision, and he surges forward, careless.

He shoulders Tetsurou down, just as the other leader steps aside, and feels something hot and heavy shoot past his head, throw his hood back.

They hit the ground rolling, and he pulls his daggers out–

Not fast enough.

His right shoulder screams where something embeds itself, throwing it back, but he sucks in a deep breath, pulling his left arm back and letting the metal fly. He doesn’t check to see if it hits its target, instead twisting back to check on Tetsurou.

He needn’t have worried. His partner is on his feet, holding the group’s leader off with a crude stick, the wood thick enough to keep his opponent back for a moment. The rest of the group has either scattered or moved into a loose formation, a seemingly holey circle that they might escape out of.

He’s seen this formation before, he knows better.

They would have to fight their way out.

A jarring vibration from behind. He spins and drops, yanking the little knife out of his shoulder. Agony rips through him, and he almost loses his grip on the handle.

He rolls forward, leaning into the pain, into the blood that is surely pouring out of his wound. And as he rises on the balls of his feet, a tremor in the air. He twists, slashes, and a man goes down, clutching his shin.

Morisuke can see the man facing him rush forward, and he spins up and out of the way. Something slices over the top of his head, and he turns back to see another attacker, arm extended.

His arm jerks up, knocking their arm and weapon away, body twisting for the kick. As they bend over, he shoves them back, spinning to counter and slice at the one who was behind him. A punch to the solar plexus, a fist to the temple, and they fall. He sheathes a blade as he rushes back into the broken circle, scooping up a rock and hurling it at someone on Tetsurou’s other side.

The ground is shaking with too many movements, and he is confused, he doesn’t know where to strike.

Morisuke runs forward and fits himself back to back with his long-time sparring partner, pulling a dagger out of his belt. It’s barely enough to hold back against the metal pipe that comes towards him, and his shoulder screams at the effort.

He pushes the pipe off to the side as best he can, blades sliding together harshly, the person stumbling. He slams the handle of his blades into the side of the person’s skull as they tip forward, shifting out of the path of the falling body.

Something crashes into his head, making him stumble, and he turns back to see the skittish-looking one holding a large stick, about to bring it down again.

Morisuke ignores the throbbing in the back of his head, charging forward. The person stumbles back, almost tripping, and he knocks the stick out of their grip. A hit to the stomach, another to the face, and they crumple. He sheaths one blade and grabs the stick, looking around wildly.

He barely holds the stick up in time to fend someone else off, but his arm is trembling, his shoulder burning. His strokes are sloppy as he slashes at the arm of his newest attacker, but they fall back too quickly. The person pulls the scarf covering their face down, and their mouth moves almost too fast for him to understand.

_“Stop resisting and die.”_

**_“No.”_** He isn’t sure how loud he says it, because he’s never sure of his voice, not after he lost his hearing.

The attacker frowns at him, and he clears his throat, circling them warily.

He never thought he might need to speak. His voice must sound terrible.

**_“No. Leave us alone.”_ **

The attacker looks even more confused, and Morisuke curses to himself. He glances around, hurriedly backing up until he’s back to back with Tetsurou again, holding the stick up. There is not much else he can do, if he cannot communicate properly. Luckily, there don’t seem to be many uninjured remaining.

His attacker looks as if he’s thinking, and Morisuke’s eyes slide off him, to someone else charging in. His reaction is slower now, and his arm hurts to raise. He is beginning to see stars, and the stiffness of his sleeve can only mean it’s soaked in drying blood.

**_Damnit, I wanted to live longer._ **

Maybe they should have run.

Everything’s in slow motion, but still he strikes out with the dagger, stabbing blindly at the person’s face, adjusting his stance as they fall back. He pants as they prepare for another strike, gripping the stick as well as he can.

An arm shoots out, holding his attacker back, and he sees that it’s the same one he was fighting before. He watches their lips move as they converse, and it’s confusing to him.

Morisuke keeps watching, but they don’t attack, retreating instead. He sees that the first one is calling out something, but he can’t see what, though he thinks he feels Tetsurou freeze up behind him.

He needs to stay awake. He can’t pass out.

He leans against Tetsurou for just a moment, closing his eyes.

\-----

Tetsurou feels the weight leaning on him and sucks in a breath.

He’s locked in a stalemate with the leader of the other group, halting as one of the man’s team calls to him.

“Daichi-san, fall back.”

“You sure?”

A strategist. They had a strategist in the fray.

And their leader listens to him.

Tetsurou glances around quickly. Indeed, there are many fallen. Two or three he took out, and the rest must have been Morisuke.

Morisuke.

He can feel his partner slumping against him, and shifts his weight to let him lean on him better. If he is doing this, he must be severely injured. Morisuke never lets anyone see weakness until it is too late.

“We don’t fight those already disabled. This was a mistake.”

Disabled?

He thought he heard Morisuke speaking earlier, but he wasn’t sure. He was preoccupied.

“Shit.”

The other leader – Daichi – pulls back so quickly, Tetsurou almost falls. But Daichi doesn’t seem to want to engage further, and Tetsurou is only too happy to drop his weapon and support Morisuke.

Shit. His entire sleeve is soaked.

Tetsurou strips his mask off and folds it into a pad, pressing it over the gash in Morisuke’s shirt. His free arm goes around his waist, holding him against him, praying that he hadn’t lost too much blood.

(It’s unlikely, but he prays and hopes.)

(He can’t let Morisuke die.)

(Who would he have left if he did?)

“Hey.”

Tetsurou twists back to eye Daichi, and the man looks almost embarrassed, as does the strategist behind him.

“We’ll leave now. If we meet in future, we will pass by quietly, with no confrontation.”

“Why would I believe you?”

He sounds so bitter.

(He definitely is.)

“We didn’t know your friend is deaf. We don’t fight the disabled because we have our own who cannot handle the fights, and it is an unfair advantage.”

“How honourable,” Tetsurou sneers. “Difficult to find, these days.”

“We do our best.” Daichi bows again. “Our sincerest apologies for the mistake. May our paths not cross again.”

“Yeah. Bye.”

He watches them leave from the corner of his eye, gently lowering Morisuke to the ground, worrying at his lip. He can’t afford to worry about them now, even if they decide to come back and finish them off.

_Please, please don’t die._

\-----

He drifts in and out of consciousness, drinking when something cool touches his lips, trying to squeeze the fingers holding his own.

But first and foremost, he dreams.

Of fights and dying, of running away. Of struggling to stay awake when he is about to be cut down, of remembering important words, yet not being able to say them.

He dreams of never waking up, and the thought is tempting.

But he also dreams that he can hear again, and the look of joy when he calls Tetsurou by name, every syllable well-formed.

He dreams and dreams, and wishes it was real.

\-----

Tetsurou is so afraid, whenever he has to leave to hunt and find water for them. But he has no choice, because he cannot care for Morisuke without supplies.

It has been a week.

He worries so much, but it is all he can do to hold on to hope. As long as Morisuke still breathes, still lives, he cannot give up.

He tended Morisuke's wounds carefully that first day, wasting precious water and clothes to wash and make bandages. More water went to feeding him, because he couldn’t feed him anything else in his state.

But Tetsurou refuses to give in, to begin to think that he might be lost to him. He cleans his wounds, physically fighting infection, cares for his body.

He is a wreck, but the physical work is the best that he can do, even if the waiting is driving him crazy.

\-----

It is dark when he wakes, and his body aches all over. He tries to sit up, gasping when weight is put on his right arm. He quickly shifts his weight, wincing as he stretches out his hand, clenching and unclenching it to test it.

His fingers feel fine, and he rubs at his shoulder, at the stiff muscles, biting back a gasp as he prods an area and pain flares.

Fuzzy memories are returning to him, of a fight and injuries, and a sticky, stiff arm.

He had been injured. They had been going to die.

Morisuke looks over his surroundings, trying to digest the area in the dim light. He sees a pack not too far from him, perhaps another bundle of clothes behind the rock. His hands close around a thin blanket in his lap, fallen there from when he sat up.

But there is no trace or sign that there is anyone else in the cave.

He exhales slowly, trying to quell his anxiety, and slowly pushes to his feet.

No matter where he is or why he is alone, he needs to investigate for himself. His muscles are stiff now, but he refuses to remain helpless, in case the worst happens.

\-----

Tetsurou is about to enter the cave when he hears it. A _pop_ , of a stick bending and giving way. Fear floods his veins, and he presses against the entrance tentatively.

There are two reasons he can see, of why there is a fire. One, Morisuke is awake. Two, someone else had raided the cave while he was away, and is now using it as their hideout.

He prays that it isn’t the latter. No raider is so kind to leave an injured person alive in a potential safe haven.

Clutching the bag close to his chest, he bends low and sneaks in, footsteps as light as he can make them. He darts from outcropping to outcropping, moving deeper towards the glow of light.

He peeks out from behind a rock, jerking back when a rock clatters next to his face. His heart is pounding, and then he hears, too loudly, **_“Show yourself.”_**

God, he has never been so thankful for those mispronounced words as now.

Tetsurou edges out from behind the rock, rising to his full height, hands raised in surrender.

Their eyes lock, he hears a sharp inhale, and then they are moving forward, colliding, and he has never been so glad to feel one arm around his waist.

Tetsurou wants to pull him closer, but a grunt reminds him of the precarious position they are in, the bag of supplies squashed between himself and Morisuke.

It’s almost too funny _not_ to laugh, so he does.

Morisuke looks at him weirdly, but Tetsurou only shrugs, pulling off the bag and picking up his lover instead, crushing him to his chest.

Legs wind around his waist, and arms circle his neck with a wince. Morisuke glares and headbutts him, but Tetsurou couldn’t care less.

He is finally awake.

He is alive.

Tetsurou buries his face in the crook of Morisuke’s neck, arms squeezing tighter, even as his knees grow weak and they sink to the floor. He feels arms and legs tighten around him in response, a hand gently tugging on his hair.

(A gesture so familiar, so beloved– He never knew he missed it, before.)

(But now– Now–)

(Now he can experience it again. It won’t be taken away from him, not anymore.)

They sit in the quiet, the only sound the slight crackle of the fire, clutching each other, revelling in a body still warm with life.

(And if they waste a few tears to wet each other’s necks–)

(Well, it’s no one’s business but their own.)


End file.
